


世界一片思い：　Ｍｏｔｉｏｎ　Ｓｉｃｋｎｅｓｓ　（天王はるかの場合）

by takaraikarin



Series: 世界一片思い (World's Greatest One-Sided Love) [2]
Category: Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, F/F, Romance, Smut, ish, vague depictions of depression, vague depictions of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takaraikarin/pseuds/takaraikarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sekaiichi Kataomoi: Motion Sickness -Tenoh Haruka no Baai-</p><p>It was a rather change of pace to be able to lean back and watch. These days, Haruka felt those blue eyes on her person in campus more often than not, and now that the table has turned, she was going to look her fill. </p><p>Haruka remembered her, that Kaioh Michiru, little Yaten’s supposed best friend. So well-mannered and polite she made people around her looked crass in comparison. If Haruka was Yaten, and actually cared about that sort of thing, there’s no way she’d want to be friends with somebody as beautiful as Michiru, girls like her only made their friends looked bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	世界一片思い：　Ｍｏｔｉｏｎ　Ｓｉｃｋｎｅｓｓ　（天王はるかの場合）

**World's Greatest One-Sided Love: Motion Sickness (In Tenoh Haruka's Case)**

 

 **“How** are you feeling this week, Haruka?”

“Can’t complain, doc.” She answered with a smile. 

“Anymore insomnia?” 

“Not since the season started, no.” 

“That’s good to hear.” The gladness in doctor Kikuchi’s elderly gaze was apparent. “Now. For this week, I just want to hear you talk about whatever you want,” he continued and Haruka leaned back, sprawling herself on his couch with practiced ease, and started talking. 

 

**Haruka** fell in love with racing at the tender age of eight. Her uncle Wataru, who has shares with the Honda Racing Team, would take her to Suzuka to look at test-drives and amateur races. She loved everything about it: the hair-raising shrieks of the machines as they went by; the heat that felt it could scorch her skin; even the smell of petrol in the air that clung to her hair, her clothes, exasperating the maids to no end. It was also Uncle Wataru who bought her her first 100cc go-kart when she was ten. She started racing the following spring. 

Racing yourself is actually better than just watching other people do it. Better than, dare she says, even running. The intricacies of pulling the best performance out of the machine beneath her, of working with her car, coaxing it to give her the best wailing sounds it’s capable of while her heart races, the winds playing with her hair so hard he felt like she might lose her head any minute now, zooming faster and faster that the world ceased to consist of details and is merely a vortex…. When she was in her zone, Haruka felt like she was endlessly falling. It was the best feeling in the world. 

She steadily worked her way through the karting classes, winning Cadet Class championships, through to the Junior Yamaha races. From her family home in Kyoto, her uncle would drive her around to wherever her races were, ready with a smile and a pat on her back afterwards. Since Uncle Wataru was always so proud of her, it took her a while to realize her parents weren’t smiling anymore when she brought home another trophy. 

The restrictions they put on her were added little by little, but it grew exponentially over time. The dresses she was forced to wear to this and that party, the added after-school lessons that she didn’t really need anyway, the classical music, the chado, everything felt like weights clipped on her wings, mooring her down to earth. No more winds on her face. 

_That’s not what a proper Tennoh-lady would wear, Haruka,_ her mother would say, eyes critical over her attire, felt like she was judging her worth anyway. 

_Don’t use such language, Haruka,_ her father said. _A Tennoh-lady would never use ‘boku’ and talk in the male form._

 _Because it feels wrong to call myself ‘atashi’, father, it feels like I’m stabbing myself in the back,_ she never replied to her father. She corrected her speech pattern in front of her parents, swallowed the bile that always crawled up her throat as she did so, while each word that fell out tasted like sandpaper. She surprised herself that her mouth never really bled. It sure felt like it might.

 

 **The** midnight racing started when she was fourteen. She’d sneak out of her room, wearing her PE uniform from school—the only non-lady-like clothes her parents still allowed her to wear—and hailed a cab down the hill outside the family land. In fifteen minutes she was in a rented EVO 7, revving the engine along with ten other cars, ready to drag race. 

It was illegal, it was unsafe, people die all the time in these unregulated street races, but it was the only time Haruka felt connected to her own body. She’d roll down the window sometimes—aerodynamics be damned—and feel the wind greeting her like an old friend. She’d follow that friend anywhere, even to edges of cliffs. 

 

 **Her** first accident was three months after. She was two weeks into a new obsession; drift-racing. Still illegal, now ten times more dangerous what with the whole going sideways down mountains in a car more than a decade old, thing. The adrenaline rush made it worth it, Haruka thought. She’d gladly put her neck on the line for that rush, that old friend of hers she only ever get to meet while moving at a neck-breaking speed, that burst of wind wrapping her in its arms. She was falling again, falling while accelerating and not planning to stop any time soon. 

She heard the crash of metals, the shouting from the spectators, and felt the impact of her car hitting the road’s side railing. She hit the brakes instinctively, and couldn’t quite contain the disappointment when that stopped her motion. 

She’d much prefer falling. 

She came home with a few bandages on her hands and knees, but it’s not like anybody noticed. 

Her second and third ones happened one after another, and it was only because of words from the racing organizer—they can’t afford getting attention from the police with all the road railing Haruka kept destroying—that she promised to drive more carefully and actually meant it. 

The fourth accident, she was in a Nissan Silvia she just bought the week before, and on the second turn her old friend was already saying hello, beckoning her forward, faster and faster. Haruka smiled and followed the feel of the wind surrounding her, the lovely growl of the car beneath her a nice soundtrack propelling her forward. Her head cleared out. It was such a lovely night, the sky felt like it opened up to her the faster she went. She wanted to fall into it and never stop, never again be moored by obligations and the weight of her own last name. 

On the seventh turn, instead of breaking she accelerated, and didn’t even close her eyes as the torsion threw her car off the mountainside. 

The wind felt the best when she was falling. 

 

 **Uncle** Wataru shouted at her when she came to in the hospital, while the doctor and nurses tried to hold him back. He also shouted at his older brother, telling him to stop forcing his values onto his children, telling him he’s acting just like their father, and Haruka’s father recoiled at those words as if he’d been hit. 

“And you!” he turned back towards his favorite niece, banged up and looking smaller than ever in the hospital bed. “Were you _trying_ to kill yourself?” 

Haruka felt vaguely guilty that she couldn’t lie well enough to answer ‘no’.

Her uncle’s face paled considerably at Haruka’s loaded silence, along with her parents’. Later that day, Uncle Wataru transferred her to Tokyo International where the doctors told her she’d need a year of physical therapy to recover. Her uncle made her promise she’d do her PT, and that she’d talk to a friend of his.

A few days later, she met Dr Kikuchi. A little over three months after that, she was already walking without crutches. Her uncle had promised he’d let her apply for the Super One series of her age bracket, after all. 

She started racing again—with 6 points safety belts and roll cages, this time—eleven months after the accident. Both Uncle Wataru and Dr Kikuchi were in the spectators stand. 

 

 **Funny** thing about life, it didn’t quite go as smoothly after that. One would think it should, but just because her parents won’t lock her up in her room until she’s wanted to be paraded around, didn’t mean they’d relinquished complete control of her live. She still got called home every few months, reminding her of her obligations as a Tennoh, telling her to attend this party and that charity event as her father’s Kantou representative. She started wearing suits to those parties to spite them, but felt so in synch in her own body that way that she never stopped.

The only thing uncle Wataru did when he noticed her complete change of wardrobes—that even included gakurans for her uniform replacing the usual sailor uniform—was to blink at her and reached out for his wallet. “Get more bespoke suits. Here, talk to my tailor.” He said as he handed her a name card. 

It was good enough for her that uncle understands.

 

 **It** was in one of the events that she was forced to attend to that Haruka saw her. 

It was a rather change of pace to be able to lean back and watch. These days, Haruka felt those blue eyes on her person in campus more often than not, and now that the table has turned, she was going to look her fill. 

Haruka remembered her, that Kaioh Michiru, little Yaten’s supposed best friend. So well-mannered and polite she made people around her looked crass in comparison. If Haruka was Yaten, and actually cared about that sort of thing, there’s no way she’d want to be friends with somebody as beautiful as Michiru, girls like her only made their friends looked bad. 

Even Seiya wouldn’t stop bugging her about Michiru. Wouldn’t take Haruka’s flippant ‘she’s not my type,’ as an excuse. Went as far as to bugging her in campus, in her apartment, even in her sacred garage while she worked on her babies. 

“Oh yeah, hot girls are not your type now. Sure, I get it,” she’d said, incredulous. Haruka wanted to throw her monkey wrench at her friend just so she’d shut up and leave her alone with the Aerial Atom she was assembling. 

It was hard to explain the sickening feeling she got when she saw Michiru there in that party, though, even now looking at her from across the ballroom, everything from the way she covered her mouth as she laughed and the elegant way she accepted requests to dance made her feel sick. Everything in that room felt frivolous and without import, including her. 

She made Haruka want to corrupt her. 

Haruka does that sometimes. 

(Most times)

(Times when she’d be bored out of her skull, forced to visit the home in Kyoto, attending her parents’ parties)

She’d make eyes with the many rich girls, the nobilities that would stare and blush at her, and if she saw an opening, she’ll pounce. Charm them out of their skin, or at least their dresses or kimonos. Came back home with a smug aura around her, still smelling of flowery perfumes that she’d never touch for herself. Her parents knew what she was doing—hell, they knew _why_ she was doing it—but couldn’t say anything ‘cause Haruka was discreet, and she always gave those girls a perfectly good time, so nobody ever came complaining. If she wasn’t publically humiliating the family name, there was nothing they could say. They did clucked their tongue a lot, watching perfectly well-bred girls they’d hoped their daughter would become sneaking out of said daughter’s room early in the morning, their hair a mess and their kimonos all rumpled, giggling all the way. 

Now as she watched the girl dance and charmed her way in the party, Haruka contemplated if she should seduce Michiru, brought her down on her level and discard her, she wondered what her family would think. Here’s the girl that represents your ideals. Now I’m going to prove that she’s no better than anybody else. 

Because out of anybody else Haruka had ever met, Michiru seemed to be molded out of etiquette books. All façade, no substance. Probably never acted out of her own thoughts in her life. 

She was the personification of everything Haruka had grown up to despise. 

She held her snifter so hard looking at the dancing girl that the glass broke in her hand, spilling brandy onto her tux and attracting the attention of the people around here.

“Oh dear, Tennoh-sama, here let me clean that,” the hostess said, ushering her to a nearby toilet. As she scanned the room while exiting it, she saw those blue eyes looking at her. 

 

 **As** much as Haruka hated socializing and parties in general, there was no way that she’d be able to get out of attending Seiya’s birthday party. Not when she’d managed to shuttle all of her friends to the Kou family’s holiday home in Izu, bragging about partying with no supervision. 

Yaten-chan was of course invited, and with that the invitation extended to Michiru. Unsurprisingly. 

Haruka took one look at the crowd as they started filling up Seiya’s big white villa, taking out carts and carts of beer bottles. Somebody started the music and opened up the bottles already, even though it was not quite three in the afternoon yet. Haruka looked at the vast blueness of the sky from the kitchen window and thought, fuck it. It’s too beautiful of a day to be cooped up in a house with a bunch of people she never really cared about, pretending to have a good time. 

She grabbed three bottles from the counter and started making her way out of the property, along the little gravel path that led to the ocean. 

She stayed there until sunset. 

When she came back to the room, the majority of the party was making much noise around the huge pool in the backyard. Girls in bikinis laughed and flirted with guys that were pretending they weren’t ogling. Some version of dancing was attempted. Somebody pushed their friend into the water and a handful of other people followed along. 

It didn’t fit a little bit with her contemplative mood. 

When she came into the house through the kitchen door, a group of people were sitting on the floor in a circle, an empty bottle of beer lie in front of them. Haruka raised an eyebrow, not realizing she’d travelled with a bunch of fifteen year olds, apparently. 

The other eyebrow was raised when she noticed that both Seiya and Michiru were among the group. Before she could snarked at Seiya about being juvenile, her best friend had started spinning the bottle. When it stopped, it pointed at Michiru.

The group around them hooted, and with a gentle smile Seiya crawled towards Michiru’s sitting figure before raising her chin and kissing her lips softly.

That was when Yaten entered the room from the patio. “Seiya! You said we could—” she halted at seeing the scene in front of her. Seiya let go of Michiru’s lips immediately, and even the half-drunk group surrounding them could tell the icy change in the atmosphere. 

Haruka let her body reacted before her brain could. 

“Michiru, c’mon, we’re going out.” She said. The girl turned to her in surprise. “C’mon, these two have things to talk through,” Haruka said pointedly to her best friend. “We’ll get out of their way,”

Still looking worriedly at her best friend who couldn’t quite look back at her, Michiru followed Haruka out of the house. 

She followed Haruka quietly passed the rowdy crowd around the pool, passed the front door and the driveway before she asked, “Where are we going?” 

Haruka was still looking up at the sky, the seaside wind caressing her face like a lover’s hands. 

“Let’s go for a drive,” she said. 

 

 **Haruka** got her SLK’s roof turned down as they started cruising, so she could breathe in the night air. The girl beside her on the passenger was too quiet compared to the ones she’d usually drive around, it prickled at her skin, reminding her she wasn’t just cruising with a random pretty girl she wanted to win over. It wasn’t at all the usual fare. 

“Why did you agree to play that game with her?”

Michiru brought her fist in front of her mouth, looking a bit unsure. It was such a normal, such a human expression on her that it looked almost alien, Haruka had to blink at that. 

“I… wasn’t sure how one plays that game.”

“Pfft,” laughter stole their way out of Haruka’s mouth, “yeah, I guess little miss sheltered wouldn’t have known games like that, would she?” 

For a split second Haruka could’ve sworn she saw a look of hurt flittered through Michiru’s face, but not a moment after it was displaced by icy politeness again. For every questions Haruka asked her (from ‘would you like your seat-heater on?’ to ‘should we go along the shore?’) after that, her answer was ‘yes please’ or ‘no, thank you,’ or ‘which ever you prefer’. 

It made Haruka grit her teeth and her grip on the wheels tightened instinctively. 

_So that’s it? She’s back to being a perfect wound up princess toy because… what, that’s the only way she knew how to react?_

Haruka slammed her feet on the break, propelling them both forward and for a second Michiru looked at her in shock. Haruka drank that non-blankness in her expression, itching for more. 

“Is something the matter?” the girl said, back to her politeness too fast for Haruka’s liking. 

“We’re going back.”

“I thought you said we’re going to the shore…”

“Yeah, well, I lied.”

The drive back to the room was in complete silent, but Haruka knew she’d managed to unnerve the girl, and that felt better than being on the receiving end of her polite mask. 

They reached the house and Michiru got off the car, instantly making her way inside, evading all the people around the house to reach the east wing and climbed up the stairs to make her way to the rooms on the third floor. At the second floor landing, Haruka curled a hand around her elbow, halting her steps, and pulled her body flushed against her own. She took advantage of the girl gasping in surprise to claim her lips in a kiss, sneaked her tongue past those soft lips in an imitation of a seduction. 

Michiru wrenched herself away after a few moments, half of a question on the tips of her tongue—‘wait, Tennoh-kun- what’s gotten into’—which Haruka took as another chance to kiss the girl deeply again. Her lips tasted sweet—probably her lipgloss—but her mouth tasted tangy like she’d been eating unripe apples. She tasted _real_ , and it was more intoxicating than anything Haruka ever tasted. 

She pulled back from those delectable lips with difficulty to trail kisses down Michiru’s neck, following the trail of her perfume up towards the back of her ears and started nibbling at the delicate skin there. 

The girl in her arms had started coming up with these sweet little half-gasps, and the hands that were on Haruka’s shoulder, that were to keep her away at first, had started to curl around Haruka’s neck instead. 

_I want her_ , something inside her head said.

“I want you” she whispered wetly into her ear. Michiru gasped loudly, before something that sounded almost like the beginning of a tortured laughter escaped her lips. Haruka looked back at the girl, head leaning back against the wall, exposing the graceful arc of her neck. Her blouse had already lost a few buttons, and her chest heaved as she laughed silently, though her face looked pained. 

It was the most beautiful Haruka ever saw her.

“That’s a nasty lie, Tennoh-san,” she said after a few moments. “Who would say something like that?”

The question sounded more like ‘who would want someone like me’ to Haruka’s ears, and she couldn’t begin to think why a girl like her would think that way. 

“I would. And I’m not lying.” Haruka answered her. Michiru stopped laughing at that, though her smile was the saddest as her eyes met Haruka. 

Haruka leaned down and placed a kiss on her temple, breathing in the girl’s fragrant hair and took her hand, lead the girl into her room. 

 

 **In** her bed that night, Haruka took her fill watching Michiru come undone in her hands again and again, drinking the sight in like she’s parched, like she needed those proofs of Michiru’s realness as she writhed between the sheets. 

She was wrong to think there was nothing behind her façade. Her eyes were whirlpools as they looked at Haruka, pupils dilated, darker than she’d ever seen them. She was passionate and she was exhilarating and it scared Haruka slightly that she couldn’t seem to get enough of Michiru gasping out her name. 

 

 **Morning** came too early for Haruka. She could feel a headache building from a throb on the back of her head. Beside her, Michiru slept soundly, her face open and relaxed.

It made Haruka want to throw up. 

This felt different than all those girls she used to bring home, different than all those princess she’d seduced. She had wanted to bring her down a peg or two and used the sex to taunt her. She wasn’t here with the mutual agreement to have unattached fun like those other girls. 

She’d said she wanted her, and she wasn’t lying, but—

But just because her plan blew up on her face, that didn’t mean that she didn’t ever made that plan. To seduce her. To humiliate her. 

Before the two of them succumbed to sleep last night, Michiru had carded fingers through her hair and pulled her down for a kiss, and Haruka’s heart had clenched tightly. 

That felt… dangerous. 

She was physically sick, now, and hurriedly went over to the en suite bathroom. She heard Michiru waking up as she was kneeling in front of the toilet, heard the soft footfall of her bare feet as she went to her.

The moment she tried touching her shoulder with a soft ‘are you okay?’ Haruka brushed her hands off, her stance defensive as she looked back at the girl. 

“You should leave.” She said before she could think about it. Haruka saw the complete shock on Michiru’s face, her hands still reaching out towards her, and Haruka wondered why she wasn’t yelling at her, or try hitting her.

They stayed there frozen, staring at each other for a few minutes—the longest Haruka had seen Michiru’s real expression—before the perfectly composed mask was back up. 

As it was last night, that still intrigued Haruka, more of that glimpse behind Michiru’s mask. Couldn’t help but trained her eyes at her as the girl, with sheets wrapped around her body, went around collecting articles of clothing. Her hair glistens in the sunlight, and with anybody else Haruka would’ve laughed at the modesty of the sheets covering her, the tightness of her grip on them. But in Michiru it just transfixed her. She wished she still had the right to unwrap her, to touch her hair, and kissed the pale skin of her nape, all things a lover might do, that she never did on their night of intimacy. Michiru bent down in front of the bed and the sheets around her loosen slightly, and Haruka caught the side swell of her breasts as more smooth pale skin was on display. Haruka curled her hand in a tight fist against the wall.

But no, not quite such smooth skin after all. The early morning light showed Haruka the faint crisscrossing jagged lines of scars running all the way down the girl’s back, marring the perfection. Another glimpse of what was hidden from the surface. 

Michiru slipped into the bathroom and came out not five minutes later, fresh-faced with no make-up, her hair in a simple ponytail. She actually bid Haruka good day, of all things, the princess façade firmly in place. 

After the girl was gone, Haruka spent some time doubled over the toilet again, dry-heaving.

-

Yaten found Michiru in the now deserted pool afterwards, holding her breath underwater. She was down there long enough that Yaten was starting to worry before she resurfaced. 

“You never came back to our room,” Yaten said softly. Michiru peddled closer to the side, stopping in front of Yaten. “I wasn’t mad at you, you know,” she added.

Michiru smiled a little as she reached out to grip Yaten’s hand. “Did you and Seiya talked?”

Yaten shrugged, her restless fingers playing with the threads of her oversized sweater. She then blinked, seemingly just realizing where they really were. “Why are you in the pool so early in the morning?” 

Michiru titled her head. “I wanted to be somewhere with no monsters.”

Yaten nodded, remembering their conversation months before. 

“Can I take cover in there too?”

“Sure, there’s more than enough room.”

The girl pulled her sweater off at that and slipped out of her jeans. In her undergarment, she followed her best friend in to her safe space. 

 

 **“Dude** , cheer up, I know you hate shit like these, but at least I got forced to make an appearance too,” Seiya said vehemently, hating the unfailing moroseness of her best friend lately. 

“I’m not sure how that’s supposed to make me feel better,” Haruka snarked at her, but it lack any bite, it felt as listless as Haruka was feeling lately. Seiya sighed at her friend’s pathetic state. 

“C’mon, straighten your tie; we’ll head for the open bar. At least this is a charity exhibition, and we’re supposed to look at painting and pretend we know shit about art, instead of mingling and schmoozing.” Seiya thumped her friend’s back. 

Feeling slightly better after her first glass of champagne, Haruka started looking around the exhibition while nursing her second glass. 

She looked at half of the first floors’ paintings with themes like ‘the human condition’ before moving to the individual spread in the second floor. She stopped dead at a corner lit hues of blue, the placard there clearly announcing the name Kaioh Michiru. 

A painting, its size covering almost half of the wing’s wall, caught her attention. It was all sharp lines and blurred vortex; blue and green and grey hues blending together in a pattern of confusion. Haruka felt like she was being pulled into a fast stream looking into it, at a considerable speed that it made her head spin, not unlike oversteering and spinning wildly in a circuit. 

The painting was titled ‘Motion Sickness’ and it reminded Haruka of falling. 

She wondered if Michiru ever fell as hard.

-

“Are you sure she’d want me to come?” Haruka looked back and forth between the ticket in her hands and Yaten's face, which was covered with heavy woolen scarf and a health mask at the time. 

Yaten shrugged. “Who knows? I've got three tickets and I’m allowed to bring anybody I want, Michi said.” Her coughing rather disrupted the nonchalance aura she was going for there. 

The ticket said a solo recital at the Suntory Hall. Haruka isn’t much of a classical music fan, but even she knew how the venue is called the holy land of classical performance in the country. Shouldn’t things like this be reserved for the head of the family and probably as many Kaiohs as possible? 

_Maybe they’re reserving a whole balcony for her family,_ Haruka thought. 

She then stared levelly Yaten, who was still standing awkwardly in front of her. She took one look at the tickets still in her hands and snatched another one. “I’ll bring Seiya.” She said. 

“Wait, Haruka-kun, don’t—” whatever it was Yaten was objecting towards, Haruka never knew as she was once again disrupted by a coughing fit. 

“If I’m going, then Seiya’s going, and we’ll sit together amicably and watch your friend performs—but never mind that, _are you okay_?” she asked in concern at the still coughing girl. Yaten waved her concern away and wandered off. 

 

 **Haruka** fidgeted with the lapels of her tux, couldn’t quite shake off the question of whether she’s really allowed to be there. 

“Stop that.” Seiya admonished, halting Haruka’s hands from trying to straighten her lapel for the tenth times in so many minutes. 

“You’re fidgeting too, dude,” Haruka shot back.

“Yeah, well—” Seiya paused mid-sentence as Yaten came out of the elevator and made her way towards them.

“Hi,” Seiya greeted awkwardly.

“Hey,” Yaten greeted back. 

Haruka wanted to hang herself.

“C’mon, let’s go in, she’s— it’s starting.” 

“Right,” Yaten answered, walking towards the entrance. She was holding a handkerchief in her hand to cover for her coughing every few minutes. 

The handkerchief ended up being put to good use from half an hour before the concert start until the curtain was lifted. Yaten was coughing so much that it wasn’t just the people surrounding the three of them that was glaring, but even people two, three rows before them looked back over their seats’ headrest and glared pointedly. Haruka didn’t want to look back and see if the ones behind them were glaring also. 

Another painful sounding coughing fit wrecked through Yaten and Seiya, looking at her with concern, grabbed her hand then. “That’s it, we’re going to the hospital.” She halted. “Yaten, you’re burning up, damnit, why didn’t you say anything?”

More glares, with heartfelt shushing now, were thrown their way. Haruka tried to pretend she didn’t know the two of them. 

Seiya ignored Yaten’s weak protests and took off her tux jacket, wrapped it around Yaten’s shoulder and coax her to stand. 

“I’m taking her to the hospital.”

So much for pretending they were strangers, Haruka thought silently. 

“D’you want me to drive you there?”

“No.” She answered firmly. “You stay and watch Kaioh-san. And here, give her this.” Seiya said, handing over the bouquet of magnolias to Haruka’s hands.

Now that she no longer had Yaten and Seiya as distractions, there wasn’t anything Haruka can do but concentrate on the performance in front of her.

To be fair, it wasn’t a complete chore, watching Michiru play. Far from it. Haruka can intellectually appreciate how she was well-trained, but that was not the essence of a Kaioh Michiru performance. 

No, the essence of a Kaioh Michiru performance is letting her seep into your skin, letting her violin sound, like waves crashing against rocks, to pull you in, deeper and deeper into the ocean of symphony she’d built. 

She was magnetic on that stage, her dress flowing around her like tempestuous sea, the girl herself looking like nothing short of a beautifully temperamental sea goddess. Haruka was fairly certain nobody in the audience left that night without falling in love with her. 

With that thought still clouding her head, a few hours later Haruka found herself preparing to knock on the dressing room door marked ‘Kaioh Michiru’ with undeniably sweaty palms. She rapped on it thrice, hearing a ‘come in’ flittered from inside the room before opening the door. 

Michiru had her back towards the door, bending over her violin case, seemingly in the process of storing it. Haruka could clearly see the surprise in her face as she turned towards her, for a split second before she controlled her expression back towards neutral. It still made Haruka wanted to grit her teeth. 

But no, she wasn’t here to antagonize the girl, Haruka reminded herself, shaking her head. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bouquet towards Michiru. “From Seiya, he had to leave to take care of Yaten,”

“I’ve heard,” Michiru replied, accepting the flowers and putting them in a pile with the others on a table. “The doctors seemed to want to keep her there for observation, I’ll visit first thing in the morning.”

Silence followed her words, heavy and weighing down on Haruka’s shoulders. She leaned against the wall, opted for a pose of nonchalance, and said the first thing that came to her mind. 

“So… no daddy dearest, princess?”

Haruka wondered if she imagined Michiru wincing at her words. 

“It’s just a concert, so no.” was her reply.

“…You’re playing Suntory Hall.”

“Yes, well, that doesn’t mean it’s in his interest,” Michiru said airily while taking off the clasps of her dangling earrings.

"What, _his daughter_ is not in his interest?” For some reason the flippancy in the girl’s voice was getting on Haruka’s nerve.

Michiru’s hands halted on their way to pull the earrings off. “What’s it to you if it doesn’t, Tennoh-kun?” Her eyes that met Haruka’s in the mirror were steady, almost blank, like deceptively calm water. Haruka knows she’s deserved to be frozen out like that by her, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t grate at her pride.

“Tch, sorry for taking an interest, then,” she sneered. Michiru’s sigh at that was audible in the silent room.

Left with nothing else to talk about, but not wanting to leave just yet, Haruka leaned back again, watching the other girl taking off the jewelries she’d worn that night and storing them in velvet boxes. Her nimble hands were as sure handling those diamonds as they were with her violin. In the dimness of the room, the only source of light the light bulbs surrounding her vanity mirror, Michiru’s skin glimmered as silvery as her diamonds. 

Those hands were on the back of her neck now, reaching for the clasp of her necklace but failing to unclasp them, once, twice. The zipper of her gown and the hair falling down her neck was getting in the way. 

Haruka heard another soft sigh before Michiru turned her neck, looking at Haruka from over her shoulder. “Would you mind helping me with this?”

Haruka blinked, mumbled a quick “Yeah, sure,” and took the three steps that separated them, noticing that somehow her heartbeat had managed to triple in speed in the meantime. 

Michiru held her hair up and away from her neck while Haruka and her once again sweaty palms tried to work the delicate clasp of the girl’s necklace. It opened with a soft ‘click’ sound, and Haruka let out a breath she didn’t realized she was holding. 

Michiru stayed still, and Haruka was about to wonder why out loud before the girl turned to her again slightly and asked, “and the zipper, please?”

Haruka knew it’s ridiculous for Tennoh Haruka, womanizer extraordinaire, to be so nervous about lowering a girl’s dress. Especially a girl she’d seen naked before anyway, but she did gulped before taking a hold of the zipper and tugging it down, could feel herself getting more transfixed as more smooth skin was revealed before her. She held her breath at the first sight of the faint white lines on Michiru’s back.

There they were, those scars that showed she’s as imperfect as other people, the ones that intrigued Haruka more than perfect poise and unfailing etiquette. Her fingers itched from the sheer want to touch them, rain kisses on them.

Half way down her back, Michiru turned around, the front of her dress clutched firmly against her chest. It was so reminiscent of that morning after that Haruka _ached_ , could feel old guilt travelling up her guts, lodging itself in her throat. 

“Thank you, I’ll change clothes now. Can you shut the door?” she said, not quite meeting Haruka’s eyes as she gestured at the door. Eyes still glued to Michiru, Haruka grappled around for the door handle before pushing it shut behind her—

And stopping with an “Oh,” from Michiru. Haruka looked back at her.

“Um, I mean, with you outside of it?” she continued with raised eyebrows. 

Haruka blinked at her before realizing what she meant. 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” She said hurriedly, could feel heat travel up her neck, hoped that it didn’t reach her cheeks just yet. “I’ll be off then. Bye.” She stepped out of the room and shut the door quickly behind her, taking long steps away from the dressing room, else she’d make a huge ass of herself again. 

It wasn’t until she took time leaning against her car in the basement parking lot, finishing a few cigarettes, that Haruka felt she was calm enough to drive her favorite Alfa Romeo out of the basement towards the exit, passing through the front entrance. She slowed down as she saw a taxi stopping at the drop-off area, watched as the driver got out of his seat to open the door for none other than Michiru, who was carrying huge bags of presents and deposited them on the back seat. 

“Wait, there’s more,” she heard the girl said and the driver nodded readily at her as she walked back towards the building. Haruka blinked at the scene, wondering why the girl resorted to calling a taxi. 

When Michiru came back out with her arms full of bouquets, Haruka was already out of her own car and standing next to the driver. “You’re going home in this?” she asked.

Michiru blinked at her from behind the mountain of flowers she was holding. “Yaten was my ride,” she said, like it made sense that nobody else would be available to pick her up. The way she said it, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, grated on Haruka’s nerves again. Are you completely bereft of other friends? She wanted to yell, though her head was screaming it for her now. What about your family? You’ve just finished performing in a place some people would die for; does nobody in your life care? What the hell is wrong with the people around you? 

Completely irritated now, especially with how Michiru seemed to just took that fact lying down, she stepped forward and grabbed the girl by her wrist, flowers falling off her hands. “C’mon, you’re coming with me,”

“Wait, Tennoh-kun—” Michiru tried to say, but Haruka was having none of it. She pulled the girl towards the car even as she could feel her struggle, but Michiru wasn’t the athlete between the two of them. “Tennoh-kun—”

When Haruka opened the passenger door and about to usher the girl in, that was when Michiru really struggled out of her grasp. “Haruka!” she cried out. That snapped Haruka out of her rage. 

She could feel her grip loosen as she saw the look on Michiru’s eyes. She actually looked afraid of me... Flashes of that night came back to her and Haruka paled in realization. “Sorry, I wasn’t—” she took a deep breath. “Look, I feel shitty that you’re going home alone like that, even with my shitty parents I’d have family members coming to my races so I can get shitfaced afterward and they can drive me home. I didn’t mean to be an ass about it, sorry.”

Michiru blinked at the rare mention of Haruka’s family.

“Now, is it okay I if I take you home?” Haruka tried again. Michiru looked up at that, her eyes sharply boring into Haruka’s as if she was searching for something, and after a while she nodded. Unknowingly, Haruka smiled in relief. 

 

 **Haruka** snuck a glance at the girl beside her for the third time ten minutes into their journey through downtown Tokyo. Michiru sat at the passenger’s seat holding the case of her Stradivari on her lap, her pile of flowers and presents on the back seat of the Alfa Romeo. Haruka wasn’t sure what made Michiru agree to let her take her home, but she was thankful. 

She’d been around enough self-absorb people to know how they demanded attention, how cooped up in a small space such as this with those type of people would be an exercise in Zen-level patience. Michiru, though, sat beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world, her legs crossed neatly at the ankles, her hands cradling her violin like a precious child, and her face as she looked up at the night sky surprisingly relaxed and open. One would probably guess that the silence between them would be uncomfortable, but to Haruka’s pleasant surprise that wasn’t the case. 

The night wind played with Michiru’s hair, making it flow like waves around her face. Haruka could’ve sworn it was hypnotic. 

They reached Mugen Academy’s apartment complexes and Michiru’s building far too quickly for Haruka’s tastes, who had wanted to share more comfortable silence with the other girl, but there they were. She parked in the basement and followed Michiru to the elevator to reach her unit, presents and flowers in their hands. 

When they reached her apartment, Michiru opened the front door and deposited the stuff on the genkan, with the exception of her violin case. She was still cradling the case against herself—like a shield—Haruka’s mind provided unnecessarily, when she turned around and smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said, and Haruka didn’t think she’d ever saw Michiru’s smile that up close. It drew her in. 

Before realizing it she was already leaning down, closing the space between their faces. The sound of Michiru’s shoes hitting the door as she took a step backward stopped Haruka. That, and the words she was saying. 

“Seiya’s birthday.” Michiru started, and Haruka halted. “Two months ago. That was fun,” she said with another smile.

_Does that mean…_

Haruka’s body once again leaned forward, unconsciously drawn towards that smile, but Michiru took another step backward, now already crossing the threshold of her apartment. 

“Let’s never do that again.” Michiru said, her blank smile still in place, and closed the door on Haruka’s face. 

Haruka blinked at the closed door in front of her, the sound of locks clicking heavily in place jolted her out of the spell she was under. 

 

**Stop.**

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> \- This part, especially the racing parts, was written with [this song as the BGM](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8vlk1UR99k)  
> \- I still haven't spend enough time focusing on Seiya and Yaten, but that will happen later.


End file.
